


second chances

by zogratiscest



Series: captive au [2]
Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Physical Abuse, Protectiveness, Sibling Incest, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zogratiscest/pseuds/zogratiscest
Summary: langris just wants to protect finral, and zenon makes that unnecessarily difficult.
Relationships: Finral Roulacase/Langris Vaude, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: captive au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168451
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	second chances

Zenon intercepts him on his nightly journey to return to his pregnant brother’s side.

“Vaude.” The tone of voice is clipped. Cold. Langris locks his jaw at the sound of it, head tilting as he watches Zenon step from the depths of the shadows like a wraith. “You were later than I expected you to be. What could you have been doing at this hour?”

The hairs on the back of Langris’s neck stand up. “Lord Dante wanted to speak to me before I was allowed to come upstairs. I apologize for keeping you waiting, Lord Zenon.”

“What could my brother have wanted with you?” The question is rhetorical; Zenon sounds exasperated at the thought, and Langris knows better than to venture into familiar territory where the Dark Triad is concerned. “The two of you will be coming with me this evening. Morris needs to examine your brother, and you had better be the one to escort him. You  _ do _ want to be a proper alpha for him, do you not?”

Langris’s jaw twitches. He bows his head just enough to be respectful, not daring to take his eyes off of the monster standing in front of him. “Of course I do, Lord Zenon.”

“Then let’s retrieve your brother.” And Zenon brushes past him, close enough that his cloak lashes Langris across the shins as he passes by.

Langris should have known something was up. Dante rarely if ever has to speak to him, given that he spends most of his time in the part of the castle reserved for his personal captives. Despite the fact that every Dark Disciple beneath the Triad is aware of how Dante spends his days, no one seems to know which members of the Magic Knights survived and which were culled in the initial battle. Langris only knows those that work alongside him in the execution yard, as well as his brother cooped up in a tower.

Maybe he should count himself lucky. He gets to survive. He gets to wake up each morning and sleeps on a real bed at night, something that most of his fellow Clover citizens no longer do. At least, he doesn’t think they do. Langris is not allowed in the dungeons. Zenon said it was to keep him from being tempted to dissolve the bars with his spatial magic, something that would get all of them killed and leave Finral alone and unsafe.

There are no other spatial mages like Langris. That is why he, and by extension his brother, are allowed to live in relative comfort while so many are suffering.

The staircase that coils up to Finral’s private chambers is a long one, designed to ensure that Finral is isolated when Langris is not around.  _ Temptation, _ Zenon said when Langris once dared to venture that maybe Finral should be around other omegas during his pregnancy, just for the comfort and closeness.  _ I can’t have someone seeing his condition and deciding they might like the taste of a revolution in honor of a pregnant omega. _

Of course not. Because some would. Because  _ most _ would, and Langris is the only alpha weak and pitiful enough to fall to his knees before Zenon before daring to think about escape. As if they could ever run far enough. As if Zenon would not be able to find them.

Langris clears his throat, and he sees Zenon’s head tilt just slightly in his direction. “Have you had a good day, Lord Zenon?” Small talk is unlikely to get him anywhere, but he wants, he  _ needs _ to keep Zenon on his good side as much as possible. For Finral’s sake.

Silence settles onto his shoulders with the weight of Dante’s gravity magic before Zenon finally answers him. “What did my brother want with you in the first place?”

That… Was not necessarily a good sign. “Lord Dante asked about some of the executions this afternoon. Who conducted them and how, and if there was… Any that were stretched out.” Langris hates those the most. The executions that others conduct, the ones that seem to last lifetimes so that the victims suffer as much as possible before death.

He wonders if Zenon would kill him like that. Pierce him limb by limb until he collapses.

“I see. I wonder what he wants.” Zenon sighs. Annoyed? Irritated? “I hope you aren’t wasting the time of my Disciples when you’re chosen to conduct an execution, Vaude.”

“No, Lord Zenon. I do as I am told the minute I am told to do it.” Langris has no desire to waste time. Especially when he recognizes the faces of his victims. It’s easier for them to die quickly under the suffocating weight of his magic than to draw things out.

How do some of the others manage to sleep at night? It doesn’t look like most of them do.

Zenon stops short. Langris almost bumps into him, but stops himself at the last second. That is  _ exactly _ what he needs, to— “Get down on your knees. Right now.”

He does. Not dropping instantly on the cold stone but kneeling quickly, bowing his head so that his gaze is fixed on the cold stone. Upsetting Zenon is worse, he thinks, than upsetting Dante or Vanica. The two of them are almost childish in the way they can get upset, but neither of them have the same cold fury in their gazes that Zenon does when someone crosses him. And bone magic looks like such a painful way to die.

“I want to make this very clear so that you get no wandering thoughts in that head of yours,” Zenon says, and Langris bites down on his lower lip, knowing Zenon cannot see his face. “Your magic makes executions simple. Painless, I suppose, for the people you kill. It is a  _ mercy _ that I let you be the one to kill them. Just like when I allowed you to kill your parents. Anyone else, including myself, could have drawn it out much, much longer.”

“Thank you, Lord Zenon, for your mercy.” Langris shudders slightly under the pressure of Zenon’s mana. Cold as ice, dark and weighing down on him like an oppressive hand on the back of his neck. He wilts under it, because he no longer has the will to stand up to it.

Then something does drop down on the back of his neck. Pressing down, so that Langris goes with it until his face touches the stone step. “Understand that you are  _ privileged _ to even be alive right now. Someone as powerful could have been a problem if not for me.”

Of course. Because Zenon is the strongest spatial mage in all four kingdoms.

“You are alive.” Zenon presses down, and Langris realizes that it is Zenon’s boot balanced on the back of his neck, grinding his face into the stone. Just barely. Just enough to feel the true threat of it. “And if you do not give me what I want, I will ensure that you no longer are. But not before I let you watch me torture your brother in front of you.”

Silence. Langris’s heart beats furiously against his ribs, thudding so quickly he thinks Zenon can hear it. Did he do something wrong? Say something wrong? Why is Zenon angry with him? All he does is exactly what he is told down to the letter. Even when that meant—

“Now then.” Zenon removes his boot, and Langris dares to take a breath. “Get up. Morris has been busy most of the way with my brother’s recreational activities.”

Recreational activities? Langris does not dare to ask. He merely stands to follow Zenon.

The staircase up to the tower is cold, and Langris is thankful for the cloak around his shoulders as he follows Zenon up the last few steps to Finral’s room. The door is locked from the outside, as it always is when Langris has to leave for the day. Finral has a bedroom and a bathroom, places to sit that are not the bed. It would be a comfortable space if it was not a prison. If bars had not been bolted into the stone from the outside.

Zenon wants to ensure neither of them escape, because this experiment is all his.

Because it is his experiment, he has the key with him. Langris’s morning routine ends with stepping out of Finral’s room and watching a Disciple lock up the door before leading him down to the execution yard. Rarely does the same one wait for him to take him back to Finral’s room, and this evening, Dante told him to go straight up without waiting, that someone was already there to take him to Finral. Now he knows how Dante knew that.

He wonders if Zenon was planning this since morning. Probably he was. Does it matter?

Finral is sitting on one of the chairs next to the fireplace with a book in his lap. Most of the omegas from Clover were either executed, imprisoned, or passed off to the Dark Disciples as presents for their hard work and resolve in standing by the Triad. Finral would have suffered the same fate, except he has the same spatial magic as Zenon does, and that makes him a viable candidate for the experiment Zenon wants to conduct.

_ “I could have chosen any spatial mage with magic like this,” _ Zenon told Langris on that first night, his eyes promising nothing but pain if Langris resisted.  _ “You’re fortunate he’s your brother and that you share the same genes. I imagine that will aid the child’s strength.” _

Langris can tell Finral isn’t reading the book. He’s staring at the pages without absorbing any of the words, his stare blank and glassy as he looks up at the two of them. Maybe he had been reading it until he felt Zenon’s familiar mana approaching him.

Neither of them are comfortable in Zenon’s presence. Truth be told, the only two people who seem truly  _ happy _ when he’s around are Dante and Vanica, which tells Langris all he needs to know. There were no prime omegas that he knew back in Clover, but omegas in general tended to warm any space they were in. Alphas and even betas were tempered by their presence. Zenon’s presence is befitting a prime  _ alpha _ instead. It scares people.

“Roulacase, you’re due for an examination this evening,” Zenon says, and Finral nods slowly as he closes his book and stand. Without marking his place, Langris notes. “You’ve behaved, so I’ll allow your alpha to accompany you. If either of you act up, you can spend future examinations alone. Do I make myself clear, or do I need to repeat myself?”

“I understand, Lord Zenon.” Finral bows his head, and the soft tone of his voice makes Langris want to go to him, to comfort him, even though he can’t protect Finral here.

Not that he had back home, either. It’s almost ironic, how Zenon has been the force in Langris’s life that forced him to become the alpha that could almost be worthy of Finral, if only he had a spine. If he doesn’t take care of him, if he doesn’t dote on him and protect him and shield him as best he can, Finral will lose this pregnancy. Langris isn’t stupid.

Omegas need to be taken care of, and he’s the only one here who can do the job.

“Go to your omega,” Zenon says, and Langris breaks rank to hurry across the room to Finral’s side where he now belongs. Where he honestly always should have been.

“Nii-san.” His voice comes out low, gentle, cajoling, and Finral leans into his arms willingly, his head coming to rest on Langris’s shoulder. He’s warm, too, soft through the clothes he likely was going to wear to bed, the cloak thrown on top of them to chase the chill away.

“Langris.” Finral nuzzles into his neck and Langris purrs for him, just for him, for his mate and the child nestled inside of him. His brother, who he’d marked because he was told to, who he fucked through a heat because Zenon wanted to see if they could conceive a child together with even more powerful spatial magic. Who is just as fond of experiments as Morris, as Vanica’s devil, even though none of them could have guessed that.

“Are you all right?” Langris strokes a hand down his back, feeling the muscles relax under his touch, and he wonders if Finral was expecting Zenon. Maybe he was. Maybe Zenon had been here today while Langris was busy. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“If you don’t mind. I’m so tired.” Finral yawns, and Langris feels bad for making him wait even though there was literally nothing he could have done but speak to Dante.

“Of course I don’t mind.”  _ It’s my fault you’re a part of this mess now, after all. _

Though he shouldn’t think like that, and he knows it. He should be grateful that Zenon gave them  _ something _ to do that would keep Finral safe for at least eight to nine months, and longer still if… If the first pregnancy does not result in what Zenon wants.

What happens to their first child, if Zenon decides that child is too weak?

Langris scoops Finral up into his arms, carrying him like a new bride across the threshold back to where Zenon is waiting for them. The corner of his mouth twitches, though his eyes do not change from their cold, placid expression. He could be thinking anything right now, and Langris would have no idea of how to pin down any of those thoughts.

Dante and Vanica wear their emotions on their sleeves, in their eyes, on their lips.

“The examination shouldn’t take long and then you really should get him into bed,” Zenon says, and Langris nods immediately in agreement. Finral is tired, and he should be allowed to rest. “Morris is waiting for us. Don’t dally any longer, Vaude.”

Zenon’s magic rippled in the space around them and a moment later, they were standing in a room so massive and daunting that Langris winced at the sight of it. Not that he hadn’t been in Morris’s abode before, but the space of the castle given to him is… Larger, now. Carved into more space, because he succeeded as he promised and so the Triad rewarded him for it. Langris knows these things, because he listened when Morris talked to other people. Unlike Zenon, he might actually let something slip that could be useful.

Even if they can’t escape right now, Langris holds on to the hope that one day, they can.

Morris himself stands near the center of the room, and Langris tries not to flinch at the sight of the table there, the stirrups. Has to swallow hard to hold back the urge to growl even though he  _ knows _ Finral needs to be examined. For his own good, and the baby’s.

“You keep me waiting so  _ long, _ don’t you, Lord Zenon?” The title is a formality; the tone of Morris’s voice, petulant and teasing, telegraphs that well enough. “Where have you been?”

Zenon snorts, an unkind sound. “I was handling my pets as well as my duties.”

_ Pets. _ Langris does not want to know which unlucky bastards ended up under Zenon’s care, which makes him all the more grateful that Zenon likes to intimidate him more than actually harm him. He thinks he’d rather be with Dante or Vanica than Zenon.

“Excuses, excuses. You know, Dante’s always here on time.” Morris smirks and Langris hides a wince in Finral’s hair, feeling his brother tense up in his arms.

“Dante is here on time because he has no qualms about fucking you in front of your experiments or his pets,” Zenon says, and Langris does not hear that cold edge of fury he expects to. “I’ve told you before that you come to  _ my _ bed or you waste your time down here, but I will not make extra time  _ for _ you. Now, I need you to examine Roulacase.”

Morris laughs. The bright lights in the room reflect off of his black glasses. “Why don’t you at least give me a kiss first? To apologize for keeping me waiting.”

“I don’t owe you an apology.” And Zenon still steps closer to the man, Morris turning toward him as if he can tell right where Zenon is even though Langris knows he can’t. He hadn’t known, at first, not until Morris made it incredibly clear that he couldn’t see.

_ Born blind. _ Not that he seems to mind. He’d gotten something because of that.

Langris turns his back on the two of them, setting Finral down carefully on the examination table while he picks up the faint sound of a kiss at his back. It isn’t his place to gawk and stare, and he truthfully does not care what relationship the two of them have with each other. Or  _ three _ of them, if Dante is involved. It doesn’t matter.

“Thank you, Lord Zenon.” The  _ satisfaction _ makes Langris’s skin crawl. “Vaude, get your brother up in stirrups. You’re lucky he’s finally far enough along that I don’t have to internally check anymore. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you not to growl at me.”

The taunt makes Langris’s stomach churn, because he almost had several times. And he swallowed every irritated sound because he knew that Zenon would make him pay for each one, because Morris has the protection of the Triad. Langris doesn’t know why, and he hasn’t been able to find someone willing to talk to him about it, which is frustrating.

“Yes, Sir.” Langris touches Finral’s face for just a moment and then moves to do exactly as he was told, aware that Zenon is just behind him, waiting to punish him if needed.

Talking with Morris makes Langris feel slimy, and not only because he now knows the sheer extent of the man’s resume. He’d been the one puppeting Diamond, yes, and that meant he was responsible and foresaw all of the experiments they did on  _ children, _ but Langris has heard there are more things, other things he’s done in Spade. Experiments on their living citizens, and some no longer alive. Like he’s looking for something he just can’t find.

“Have you been eating what you’re brought to eat?” Morris tilts his head toward Finral, like he’s looking at him. “Every bite of it? I haven’t had time to check with your handlers.”

_ Handlers. _ Langris bites his tongue and stands to the side, letting Finral hold his hand.

Finral shifts slightly on the cold medal table, his head bowed just a little, his violet eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, because this is one of the few times he might be punished for something. “I have been, yes. I always clean my plate before I send it back.”

“Well, you’re a lot less fussy than  _ most _ of the omegas I’ve had to deal with.” Morris chuckles and Langris watches Zenon bristle just slightly out of the corner of his eye. He wonders what that comment meant. “But, well, others can afford to be picky. Have you been taking the vitamins, as well? It’d be more difficult to make up for  _ those _ deficiencies in the long run, but I suppose there’s nothing I couldn’t do if I had to.”

“That’s the actual reason we keep you around,” Zenon mutters, and Morris laughs openly.

Finral swallows. His throat clicks. “I take them, yes. Um, thank you for… For the one that helped with nausea, I haven’t had any trouble with it since then.”

“Very good. Morning sickness is a pain, isn’t it?” The tone of his voice is  _ suggesting _ something, but Langris can’t figure out what it is. Not from a man like this. “You’ll start having regular aches and pains the larger the child grows, so I’ll send something up for the pain since you can’t very well do much to distract yourself from it.”

“It’s better that he be somewhere safe where he’s less likely to lose the pregnancy,” Zenon says, and Langris… Thinks they might have been  _ arguing _ about this, perhaps?

Something here is very wrong. His alpha wants to shield Finral away from the two of them, but it’s on edge, too, torn between who to pay closer attention to between the devil host who’s made his life hell and the scientist allowed intimate knowledge of his brother’s body.

Finral squeezes his hand tightly. It brings Langris back from the edge, and he brings Finral’s hand to his lips to kiss his fingers. Zenon watches him, and Langris wonders what he’s looking for, if anything. Maybe he just likes to make them both uncomfortable.

“All right then.” Morris steps closer to Finral, and Langris bites his tongue as he watches the man push up Finral’s shirt before pulling down the waistband of his pants. No one but Langris should get to do that, and it puts him on edge to see someone so carefree in the way they touch his brother. Morris shouldn’t get to do this. He just  _ shouldn’t. _

Calming pheromones tickle his nose as his muscles relax, and he swallows so hard his throat aches as he watches the corner of Morris’s mouth twitch upward into a smile.  _ Oh no. _

“I just love watching an expectant alpha squirm,” Morris says, and Langris tries not to move at all. He must have done something to give himself away. Was it when he kisses Finral’s hand? And how would Morris even know he did that? “Lord Dante is even worse when he brings one of his omega whores down here. As if he actually  _ cares. _ ”

“It’s instinctive,” Zenon says, and  _ now _ Langris understands exactly what is wrong.

He has to be careful, because an omega in a foul mood is not something he wants to deal with. Much less a prime omega. Much less Zenon Zogratis of the Dark Triad.

“Of course, of course. Dante only loves one omega.” Morris presses a hand to Finral’s stomach directly, the vulnerable bare curve of it and Langris, for just a fleeting second, wants to rip his arm off at the shoulder. And beat him to death with it. “Just like our dear Langris Vaude, isn’t that right? You love your brother so much, I can feel it in your mana.”

Langris swallows again. His mouth and throat are dry. His tongue feels like cotton. “Yes, Sir.” There isn’t any point in lying. He loves Finral so much it hurts most of the time.

And Finral deserves a better alpha than him. Love is not anything. It’s  _ barely _ something.

Love didn’t magically fix all the problems between the two of them that Langris has only  _ begun _ to apologize for. Love didn’t make Ledior and Liliane good parents. Love didn’t let Langris become strong enough to save Finral from being the guinea pig for Zenon’s desire for a powerful spatial mage. It’s an emotion. Not tangible. Almost useless.

“How sweet.” Morris traces his fingers delicately over Finral’s stomach, like Langris has done almost every night. “Well, well, isn’t that a nice surprise?”

“What?” Zenon takes a step closer to the table, and it takes all of Langris’s willpower not to snap at him for getting close to Finral’s belly. To their child, so fragile and innocent and barely protected by nothing but Finral’s body. “Is something wrong with the child?”

Morris shakes his head, then turns and takes Zenon by the wrist. The touch is light. Delicate. Langris grits his teeth. So it  _ is _ like that. “No, no, not at all. Feel.”

“Is everything all right?” Finral’s voice breaks slightly and Langris crowds against his side, trying to comfort him, because these two  _ assholes _ can’t be bothered to treat him well.

“Lord Zenon is going to have  _ two _ chances to have the child he wants of the two of you,” Morris says, and Langris just stares at him. Trying to make sense of those words. Two chances? What does that mean? “Congratulations, Finral Roulacase. You’re having twins.”

_ Twins? _ Langris opens his mouth to speak. To say something. Anything. Should he be grateful? Finral is… Twins. Two of them. Like him and Finral, but together, and… Fuck, what has he  _ done _ to his brother? As if one wasn’t bad enough. As if carrying one child isn’t going to be taxing enough. Two. Two for Zenon to cast aside if they don’t meet his needs.

Two chances for Finral’s heart to shatter if their genes did not give them what they need.

The small hitch in Finral’s breath breaks Langris entirely, and he has to shove his alpha back forcibly. Now is  _ not _ the time to get protective and defensive. Not now, not—

“O-oh.” Finral’s hand drifts down to his own belly, and Langris wants to scream at him not to, not when Zenon and Morris are examining him. “I’m going to have twins?”

“Provided you carry the pregnancy to term and there are no problems!” Morris presses his hand flat to Finral’s stomach, and not for the first time, Langris wonders how his fucking magic works. “Imagine that. Lord Zenon is lucky you were so fertile during your heat.”

Zenon exhales, and Langris feels his stomach shrivel when the bastard has the gall to smile. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does. “Very well, then. Twins.”

The rest of the examination is quick and to the point. Morris schedules for Finral to be brought painkillers when he starts needing them and tells him to simply keep what he’s doing, and not to do anything too strenuous. Langris is allowed to carry him back to their room through the familiar shiver of Zenon’s spatial magic, and the youngest of the Triad doesn’t so much as speak as he leaves the room and locks the door behind him.

Finral squirms free of Langris’s arms, and Langris opens his mouth, intent on apologizing. “I’m sorry, nii-san, I—” And is cut off, abruptly, when Finral kisses him.

“Please don’t be. I’m so tired.” Finral touches his belly and Langris’s hand moves to do the same, caressing the curve of it before he falls to his knees. They crack against the stone floor and Finral winces, but Langris only presses his face against his belly instead. Listening, and Finral tugs his shirt up out of the way so Langris can touch him directly.

“They’ve just started moving,” Finral says, and Langris traces the delicate, barely-there movements with his fingers.  _ Quickening, _ he’s been told. “I didn’t even realize there were two of them, I can’t… We’re going to have twins.”

Langris kisses his belly twice, one for each of them, and then stands to hug Finral properly. “I’m sorry. That’s going to be harder on you than just one would be.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not. I’m just sleepy.” Finral nuzzles into the crook of his neck and Langris purrs for him again, rubbing his back gently. He hasn’t heard Finral purr since that heat, because being locked up here makes him miserable. “Go wash up and change for bed.”

By the time Langris is back from the bathroom, Finral is back in his nest. They have a nice one, a huge one, because Finral’s comfort during his pregnancy is important. Sometimes, Langris forgets that Zenon is an omega. He’s never pet a prime omega but assumes Zenon probably nests like any other during his heat, and if he happens to get pregnant. He isn’t, though, Langris would be able to smell it. That telltale sweetness that lingers under Finral’s own flowery scent, and with how  _ abrasive _ Zenon’s is, Langris would definitely know.

He slots himself into the space next to Finral and strokes down his side, and Finral stifles a yawn as he moves closer, nuzzling into Langris’s chest. “I can’t sleep without you.”

“I’m sorry. Dante wanted to talk to me before I came up for bed.” As far as Langris knows, Finral has no idea where he goes or what he does during the day. Just that he has duties to fulfill, and Langris refuses to burden Finral with the knowledge of his mounting crimes. He’s an alpha, and he can swallow it down. Finral is too delicate. “And I’m sorry for—”

Finral smacks him on the chest, weakly. “Don’t be sorry. I’m happy.”

“Okay.” Langris kisses the top of his head, watching Finral burrow into his chest. “Did you listen to what they were saying, at all? The implications of it?”

“No. I know Morris is a beta, but mostly I’m just scared when I’m around him, so I don’t pay that much attention unless he’s talking to me directly.” Finral looks up at him, and Langris strokes the side of his face, because Finral deserves to be handled gently. “What were they talking about? You smelled like you weren’t happy about it.”

“Dante’s… Gotten someone pregnant. Another omega. Probably one of ours.” Because Zenon had leapt in immediately, defensive, upset at the idea Dante could care about another omega. Someone who wasn’t him, and it makes Langris wonder what he’s waiting for.

Finral tenses up slightly and then closes his eyes, tucking his head against Langris’s chest tightly and shaking it a little. “Do you think… They took Yuno and Asta, do you think…”

“I don’t know.” And it burns to think about. Proud, powerful, confident Yuno… Langris doesn’t want to think about his kouhai suffering under Dante Zogratis, because there is so much a man like him can do that Yuno could never protect against. Especially now.

Yuno won’t get this care, this consideration. Yuno won’t have an alpha to look after him, at least sometimes, at least in the early mornings and at the end of the day. Yuno won’t have a nice, warm nest to himself, or a room big enough to freely move around him. He’ll be lucky if he can move at all, trapped wherever Dante has locked him.

“Nii-san?” Langris strokes Finral’s hair, because he wants to comfort him. He knows he was close with that loud-mouthed little brat and can’t imagine how much it hurts to think of it, especially when Finral’s already carrying so much weight on his shoulders.

But Finral doesn’t respond, and Langris looks down to find that Finral has dozed off against his chest. And still, despite that, there are thin tear tracks on his cheeks, as if the awful reality of the situation followed him even into the realm of sleep.

Langris brushes his cheeks dry and scoots down into the nest, tucking Finral’s face in against his own neck and purring softly to soothe him. Alphas only purr for their mates and their children, a soothing sound meant only for their comfort, but Langris isn’t much of an alpha. He couldn’t protect Finral from being used as breeding stock, and he hadn’t even  _ tried _ to protect him before Spade. They’d only recently started having a good relationship, because Langris let the weight of future heirship matter more than his brother.

And still Finral tried to reach out to him. Forgave him. Gave him a second chance he never deserved, because he hardly did anything to earn it, and then he  _ left _ .

Left to train, to become stronger, and by the time he came back, he was just strong enough to lose to Zenon Zogratis. To let his alpha genetics damn him into a life of serving the Dark Triad with his magic, to breeding his brother at Zenon’s demand. Because he and Finral are spatial mages, and Zenon wants  _ more, _ wants  _ better, _ and Dante has body magic.

And it could still be worse. Because Finral could be dead, deprived of the chance to have a life of any kind. Or the prisoner of a Dark Disciple, and that would be worse than this.

“I’m sorry,” Langris whispers, where Finral can’t hear him, where Finral can’t argue with him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother, because I should have protected you from Mother back then. And I’m sorry that you’re locked up here, but I swear I’ll take care of you and our children. I owe you that much, because it’s all I have left to give you.”

His hand slips through Finral’s hair to the nape of his neck, stroking the scar tissue there, the mark he’d left because it was all he could give Finral. The bond of an alpha who loves him, who cares for him, and who will take care of him to the best of his abilities. It isn’t much, because it’s Langris. But for now, it’s all he has to give him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the same au as dante/asta and is part of the larger captive au. all the fics in it are going to be pretty non-linear but they're all connected together in the same 'verse. it's basically all predicated on the idea that the dark triad wins, doesn't immediately pop open the gates, and has some fun with their captives in the process.


End file.
